Sibling Rivalry
by Nikki1
Summary: Chronicling the downward spiral of relations between our Petrelli brothers, from their last scene in Villans to the latest episdoe 2/9/09 . *Final chapter* During the standoff in Trust and Blood, what if HRG hadn't been behind the gun pointed at Peter?
1. Chapter 1

Hi there. So this is just a short one-shot, my silly attempt at rationalizing Nathan's behavior in the latest episode. My first non-AU Heroes story, so I hope it's up to snuff. Please understand, I'm not trying to justify beating Peter with a pipe he he he, but I do think Nathan's had a rough few years…that's all I'm saying! Please enjoy and review.

_**Sibling Rivalry **_

Nathan would never understand the significance behind the phrase "turning over a new leaf". Oh, he understood the meaning people intended to convey by using that particular proverb. They spoke of new beginnings, of disembarking from the rocky valleys of yesterday for greener sun-dappled pastures. Yet these words constantly evoked rather different imagery for Nathan. He would picture his childhood vacations spent in the country with his parents, where he loved to explore the groves of trees and lush bouquets of wild flowers lining the nearby creek where he was sometimes allowed to play. He would inspect each plant closely, his analytical mind already hard at work. What he found upon the turning of a leaf was rarely a sight to behold. No, he didn't recall ever finding anything insightful or visionary on the underside of a leaf, whether it was willow or oak or maple; deciduous or evergreen. Rather, there were bugs. Copious amounts of creepy crawlies in an unending variety of insects, slugs and snails. Slimy, gross things, the stuff of a young boy's delight, but not often associated with hopeful innovation or reform.

However, in the time since learning of his unusual gift, Nathan began to have an entirely new appreciation for that troublesome idiom. People can try to change. They fight to better themselves or their lives, but all they find on the other side is a new kind of slime.

Nathan was a perfect example. Constantly trying to do the right thing but eternally misunderstood. The decisions he had made had resulted in his being dubbed cold, stoic and heartless and, if he was honest, in the beginning it didn't really bother him. He understood that he was respected rather than cherished, admired rather than loved. Personal sacrifice is mandatory for achieving greatness, and, besides, those niceties were more along Peter's line.

Unfortunately, he reflected, somewhere along the carefully outlined path to his destiny something had changed. He'd lost part of himself. Had he so wholly given over to the things he had once only put up with out of necessity? When had the dirty dealings and backroom politics stopped leaving that ugly taste in his mouth? Most importantly, he had to ask himself "When did I become a walking punch line?"

_Question: What is a criminal lawyer?_

_Answer: Redundant!_

_Question: What's the difference between a Democrat and a catfish?_

_Answer: One is an ugly, scum sucking bottom-feeder and the other is a fish._

Ha ha. It got old. And yet, how very close he had been to justifying the jeers and scoffs.

That damn campaign…

The disbelief that flitted across Heidi's face at the mention of the Vegas incident.

Linderman's cool calculating tone as he explained the meaning of 0.07%

The flush of shame in Heidi's cheeks when she was told that she made Nathan look weak.

Hiro's cries of "Villain!" echoing in his mind long after they had pulled away from that curb.

Angela's look of satisfaction as she watched her son fall into line with her megalomaniacal overtures.

Claire, her body crumpled on the street, willing to jump out of a window in order to get away from him.

The pain, anger and betrayal expressed across every line in Peter's face during and after that ridiculous speech.

But hadn't he learned from his mistakes? He had faced his demons in those difficult months following his miraculous recovery. He tried to do what was right, to fix the mistakes of the past. He willingly and voluntarily put his name and reputation on the chopping block that day in Odessa. It was so clear that exposing the company was their only option; it would benefit so many frightened people.

At least it would have, if it hadn't been for Peter stopping him. Of course, Peter always did the right thing. As a kid he was always bring home strays (human and canine), volunteering at any place that would take him. So selfless, so noble. People loved Peter for his generosity and boundless optimism, for his staunch refusal to go against his heart even if it meant bucking off the traditional yoke handpicked by his father. When the future was in danger whose help had been sought? Hiro had manipulated time and space, consequences be damned, to beseech Peter's aide on behalf of their cause.

"Save the cheerleader, save the world." Others would scoff at the improbability of the situation from their heights of intellect and reason, but Hiro knew Peter. He knew that Peter was the only one who would take the word of a time traveler, tirelessly dedicating his every resource to following this cryptic advice. Even when his beloved big brother mocked and sneered, when he refused his help and went so far as to put up barriers between Peter and his goal: the snap of latex gloves, the smell of turpentine and that splash of black throwing back flecks at him in reprimand of his underhandedness. Threatening to have Peter detained…_stop_. Nathan shuddered at that memory, pushing it into the furthest corner of his mind. All of that was gone and done. Over. He'd made up for that by showing up at the right moment to save New York and the world.

Peter. That's right, he was thinking about Peter. Perfect Peter. Playful Peter. Pretty Peter. Precious Peter. What did that leave him? Naughty, neglectful, neurotic Nathan. God, his name even alliterated better than Nathan's. Peter was always the good guy. The nurse. The dreamer.

Did there have to be this disparity between the siblings? Why was Nathan doomed to play the stale role of Cain forever, just because he aspired to more in life? He'd never thought of himself as a bad person. Sure he was a lawyer, but he was a DA for goodness sake. He prosecuted the criminals, so why was he counted among their ranks? He served his country as a pilot, however ironically that may be. The desires spurring him toward politics were entirely humanitarian, in the beginning.

He'd never shot anyone. Could Peter say that? Right at the moment when Nathan was in the limelight for something other than scandal or self promotion, Peter shot him. _Shot_ him. With a gun. He could have died because Peter couldn't stand to share the glory. And what was with that little mind trick Peter played on him, allowing him to spout off nonsense about angels and being chosen by God. He'd made a fool of himself on national television because of that sonoffa…

But…naturally…Peter was only doing what was best. What was right. Self-righteous prick.

He could sit at the head of their dead father, holding the gun that killed the man who had raised them and dare to suggest that it was the right thing.

Everyone was wrong. Peter wasn't a virtuous crusader or a bleeding heart good Samaritan.

He was insane. A sane man doesn't heedlessly rush unarmed into the path of a known serial killer. Or jump off of a building because a dream told him that he would fly. He was losing it and his mania was going to destroy the world. Nathan's only thought as he had swung that cold metal pipe at his little brother was that he'd had enough lunacy. Peter wouldn't stop him again. He'd have his moment, his time in the sun. It was Nathan's turn to be the hero.

And then Peter saved him. Again. Over the years Peter had saved his brother's sanity, his hope, his life and his family, but as he turned to face Peter from the perimeter of that dirt circle something changed. Rage over needless destruction of a plan that would have saved the world under Nathan's direction pounded in his ears, setting his blood to burn through his veins. As always he was confronted with those doe-like eyes and the familiar victimized expression, but rather than bowing to their cooling powers, Nathan was surprised to find he had achieved an unexpected enlightenment.

Peter saw himself as a martyr, trying to protect his foolish brother from yet another mistake, but what did he know about anything? A spoiled kid still in his 20's trying to create some sense of importance in an otherwise mundane existence. For all his posturing, vehement protestation and eager lectures, he was wrong.

The image of a little girl in chains floated across Nathan's vision. This time, Peter was wrong about how to save the world. His hero complex had grown out of proportion. Sure, they'd stopped Linderman. He'd stopped their father. He'd tried to stop Nathan and he had succeeded for the moment, but it wasn't over yet. Pinehearst was in ashes, but the goal, salvation for the world, was alive in Nathan.

He was plagued with the burden of his decision. Memories, like ghosts, floated through the attic of his mind, their ephemeral forms stalwartly maintaining their positions despite his every attempt to forget. He'd debated with himself all night about whether or not he should go through with it, but that little girl wouldn't leave him alone. Peter wasn't around to warp his mind, shoot or punch him now, and by the time he found out about Nathan's plan, it would be too late. Nathan picked up the phone.

"This is Senator Nathan Petrelli. I have an urgent message for the President. It's a matter of national security."

* * *

Well, let me know what you thought. :) thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

I know, I know, this was supposed to be a one time deal, but Nathan really pissed me off. Freakin' Nathan man…First Nathan's, then Peter's point of view for the last scene in the latest episode. Please enjoy and review. I welcome rants regarding Nathan's evil tendencies.

* * *

Nathan

Nathan stood at the beginning of the airstrip, his dark unmoving form thrown into sharp relief by the brilliancy of the lights lining the walls of the large hanger behind him. Was that right? Were his feet firmly planted at the beginning of the airstrip? Or was it the end?

Very apropos to the situation, he smirked wryly as the cargo jet lumbered into the air, so lacking in the grace inherent to human flight. Beginnings and ends.

The events of the day had certainly heralded the beginning of a new era. No longer was the security of the world the sole concern of a handful of civilian men and women who conspired within their closeted hideaways, unanswerable to anyone outside of their confidences. Instead, the welfare of the general public would once again be in the capable hands of the American government; where it belonged. Not only would the everyday American John and Jane be safe from psychotic über-powerful monsters like Sylar and well-meaning yet hopelessly inept troublemakers like Peter, but soon enough the influence of their agenda would spread to countries like Haiti where megalomaniacal tyrants with god complexes used their abilities to force their people into unfair, undeserved and inhumane situations. And it was all thanks to him.

Perhaps the world would never know the identity of its savior, or indeed know of the grim future from which it had been saved, but those who mattered most recognized his vision and drive. The men under his command readily acknowledged his authority. It was a heady poison, having legions of soldiers at his charge, following his word without question, ebullient in their dedication to the cause, to their country, to him. Though the country would never know why a junior senator like himself had been appointed to such a powerful position, the very fact that he had received the post was already making good impressions on all the right people.

The night before the arrests were to begin his mother had sauntered by his desk on her way out of his office quietly humming "Hail to the Chief" with a knowing smile playing about her lips. Words were unnecessary to remind him of her grand aspirations for his political career. He had never forgotten. The success of their operation would draw him ever closer to that prestigious seat in the oval office. He could taste it.

What did it matter whether or not he stood at the beginning or end of a runway, he chuckled quietly, when he was fully embarked upon the beginning of the greatest chapter of his life? He was only too glad to turn the final page of that last ignoble passage, rife as it was with inconvenient absences from reality, petty sleuthing, violence, embarrassment and betrayal.

The act of closing a chapter in your life is a difficult task, he had quickly learned, requiring a great deal of sacrifice and a strength of will that anyone would be forced to admire. Claire would never trust him. Tracey…well, that wasn't going anywhere anyhow. It had been a very long time since the days when Hiro had delighted in the wonder of the Flying Man. Parkman he had admired, but sacrifices must be made in the name of progress. It was unfortunate. Peter was a lost cause. He'd known it from the moment they had started at each other across the front room of their childhood home. No one could say he hadn't tried. Even though his kid brother was undisputedly the most dangerous of them all, as he had proven on multiple occasions, Nathan had generously offered him protection. He told the guy that there was a place for him on their team; he could have been a real asset. Still, it was like their father had been saying nearly Peter's entire life; He's all thought and no action.

If anyone ever discovered the details of the personal sacrifices he had made in maiming these relationships they would probably see him as cruel, unfeeling, monstrous, heartless even. Is it cruelty to betray those who have loved and trusted in you if in doing so you ensure the safety of everyone else? Machiavelli argued that "[a leader] should not care about the infamy of cruelty, because with a very few examples [of cruelty] he will be more merciful than those who for the sake of too much mercy allow disorders to continue…" Machiavelli was making a lot more sense lately.

Powerful men don't have the luxury of guilt. They turn their thoughts away from the pain that they inflict. They turn their eyes away from the sight of their victims; just as he had when his brother fell limply into his arms. He had crushed the memories that had spontaneously arisen at the feeling of holding his kid brother; holding peter as an infant, the cry of glee ringing throughout the house when Nathan would visit on break from college, comforting the crying boy when his dog died.

Nathan ignored the solitary tear as it trickled down his cheek, seeping into the crease in the corner of his mouth, disappearing unnoticed. He would not allow stupid sentimentality to rule him as it did his brother. He was stronger than that. He had proven his strength and his resilience. He had won. Peter had threatened to disrupt his plans; so had Claire. What were their threats now but so many words? Tantrums from spoiled children who needed to be put in place. It was over. The end.

Then the rush of activity. Siren crying their plaintive squeal. The jet was rapidly loosing elevation. A crash was inevitable. Coincidence? Hardly.

He cursed darkly under his breath, a menacing scowl disfiguring his handsome features. "So they really want to do this? Well this is just the beginning…"

* * *

Peter

Blurred images danced along the inside of his eyelids, a sad and silent pantomime of a reality whose measure of unconceivable trepidation had far surpassed even the worst of nightmares.

He didn't allow himself to wish that whatever was happening was simply the result of bad Chinese food and a few beers too many. Nathan had done something; his mind was unnaturally scattered and unclear but he knew that much.

He had been knocked out. He didn't have a clue where he was currently located. He thinks that at some point he had been conscious and remembered seeing space men in orange jumpsuits, though that didn't make much sense. They had looked like the Twilight Zone portrayals of astronauts and Martians; that was a good show. He and Nathan always watched the New Years Eve marathon on the SciFi channel. On second thought, maybe that part really was a dream.

Wherever he was and whatever was happening, it wasn't good. If he could just clear his mind. Nothing made sense. The gnawing in his gut screamed for his escape but something else whispered eerie lullabies in his ear. Synthetic exhaustion refuses to be ignored. Even the blurred images were fading. He tried to keep hold of them, desperate as he was for anything to help him retain what little semblance of consciousness he could claim. He was fighting a loosing battle, consciousness was slipping through his mental grasp.

A new sensation. Something brushes against his face and neck. Cool air greets his cheeks. Another delusion. Like the Twilight Zone space men. A very uncomfortable feeling in his nose. The confusing visions disappear altogether as he opens his eyes.

"Peter…" she calls to him.

Looking around, Peter understands, though his mind continues to fight the tranquilizing effects of the drugs.

The son of a bitch actually did it. He wouldn't get away with it.

'This is far from over, Nathan,' he thought, bursting from the shackles with which his brother had only too willingly imprisoned him. 'In fact, it's only just beginning…'


	3. Chapter 3

Hoo boy, where we go…all you reviewers have been so incredibly wonderful! Your praise is undeserved but wholeheartedly appreciated nonetheless (lets see how you all feel after this one. Yikes!). This is the final chapter in my sole canon story he he he, though in this chapter I kinda veer off into AU land once more. Follows the events in the latest installment of Heroes *except* for once crucial fact: What if HRG hadn't been behind the gun pointed at Peter? Yeah…its not pretty, fellas. Please read and review! Con crit is always appreciated.

* * *

" Take the shot!" someone had shouted out in the distance among the brush, though all that could be seen was a neon red eye with an unwavering glare. Nathan heard the distinct blast of gun shot and felt the weight of Peter's body fall away from him. He turned, sure of witnessing his brother spiral away into the dense night sky.

The sky was empty…not only of stars, but of speeding human bodies and tell-tale trails of after burn.

"We got 'im, sir," a triumphant voice trumpeted behind him. Nathan froze, his eyes continuing to gaze desperately towards the heavens, entirely unwilling to process the soldier's words though they echoed stubbornly throughout his mind.

'_Maybe he teleported…or turned invisible. He could still be nearby_.' Nathan lowered his gaze to give the clearing a thorough search, even while part of his mind rationalized that if Peter was invisible he would be unable to perceive him. His gaze went round, probing ever tree, rock, and hill with extreme intensity. He would have sworn that his heart rate increased ten fold every second that his brother remained unfound, pulsing and throbbing in a staccato rhythm throughout his neck and behind his eyes, forcing his breath to exhale in stertorous gasps…that is, until the moment when it stopped altogether. The moment when he felt that he might never breathe again, that his heart had beat it's last. The moment when he looked down and saw his kid brother, good ole Pete, lying at his feet in a quickly spreading puddle of blood.

'_He can survive this,'_ was Nathan's only thought, his stubborn mantra even as all other sounds faded away. The voices of men reporting the success of their ambush over their walkie-talkies; Tracey's screams as she was hauled into the waiting vehicle; it was all nothing but white noise as Nathan stared down at the broken body of his little brother. He knelt down beside the body, unmindful of the dirt and blood mingling with his outlandishly pricey suit; his crisp political uniform.

"Come on, Pete," he whispered anxiously, "wake up." He cradled the sides of his brother's expressionless face, gently slapping with the palm of his hand. What was death to someone like Peter? It wasn't long ago that he and Claire had spoken jocularly about the subject, fully secure in their immortality. _'He must be waiting until we're all gone, 'til its safe. He's faking it, playing dead.'_ Peter remained still, his eyes wide open from the shock of the attack. Nathan wiped away the blood that had trickled out of the gaping hole in the middle of his forehead. What should he do? There was no neatly wedged shard of glass to be removed, just gore and far, far too much blood. Wounds that refused to stitch. "Come on, Peter. Breathe."

"Sir." A hand on his shoulder. One of the mindless drones called to him. "Sir, he's gone."

Nathan shook his head. "I don't understand." The gentle patting had evolved into rough shaking, a sad and fruitless attempt at jarring life back into the quickly cooling form. _'You can heal, I've seen you do it. What's the hold up? Peter…'_

"Senator," the hand pulled at his shoulder, forcing him to turn away from the prostrate form before him. "We need to dispose of the body."

A chill thrilled down Nathan's spine at the soldier's callous suggestion. His eyes narrowed to thin slits as they raked over the man standing in front of him. "What did you just say?" he hissed, taking a threatening step towards the man in black body armor. He spoke clearly and slowly, enunciating every word. "That isn't some body, that's my brother. And you don't know the first thing about him." He gestured behind him to where Peter lay, thrusting a rigid finger in the direction of the still unmoving body. "He can heal. He will heal. He just needs time. We are not disposing of anyone."

The soldier's eyes were fixed on the recently shot young man. He had seen people play dead before, hoping to evade detection; if it was difficult to lie completely still, to hold your breath for so long, then it was downright impossible to fake the gray pallor which was currently crawling across the kid's flesh, stealing away the fresh blush of health. Could a living man remain unblinking while his once seeing eyes filmed over, covered by a grim blindfold that would never and could never be removed.

"He's missing the back of his head, Mr. Petrelli," he observed bluntly, dragging his gaze away from the unfortunate scene. "People don't come back from that. He's dead."

Nathan smirked before turning away from his subordinate to sink back to his brother's side. "I can't expect you to understand."

"You're right," the man barked, irritated by the politician's patronizing tone. "I don't get the probelm. Isn't this the point?"

"Excuse me?" Nathan slowly returned to his feet, scandalized by the accusation that having his brother shot was an element of his grand scheme.

Remembering that he spoke to a man who held the President's ear, the soldier struggled to regain composure. "With all due respect sir, isn't our objective to contain and neutralize the threat. By your own admission, aren't these people the threat?"

"Never this!" Nathan shouted, standing akimbo in front of Peter's body, attempting to block Peter from view of the other men drifting about the clearing in the hopes that he would take the opportunity to regenerate and escape. "Never. We're supposed to be saving them from their selves, protecting them along with the rest of the country. No one was supposed to get hurt!"

"Forgive me if I'm stepping out of bounds, sir," he replied, pulling his helmet wearily from it's place atop his head, "but what did you expect? For months all this team has been hearing is how dangerous these guys are, especially your brother. Getting into people's minds, nuclear explosions, super-strength…this is creepy, weird stuff. In the minds of each member of this team, every person taken into custody is considered a serious danger to this country. The men know what these people are capable of and they're terrified. You made sure of that."

Nathan's hand inched up to rub at his trembling lips. This couldn't be happening. He was supposed to be in control of the situation, so why did he suddenly feel so very small? "Clearly the team has misunderstood the directive of this mission." _'Peter, please be gone…'_

"Sir, no one has acted outside of the parameters of our mission statement. As far as the US government is concerned Peter Petrelli was a terrorist and a direct threat to the life of a US senator."

Nathan's eyes flashed with a cold and flinty metallic light unnatural to his soft hazel irises. "He is my brother."

"Was, sir," the soldier returned blankly.

Nathan lunged at the other man, grabbing him by the front of his vest, throwing him off balance as he was pulled forward. "Do you think this is funny?" he hissed dangerously.

"No sir," he replied, remaining as calm as possible when nose to nose with someone who is obviously incensed. "But I do think that you brought him here. You arrested him. You put him on that plane. You brought us here with our guns and our scopes. I don't think you have any right to be surprised that he's dead."

For a moment the two men stood still, both silent. One shocked at having the bitter truth thrust upon him so unexpectedly, the other glad to have had his say. Nathan fought the bile from rising out of his stomach and projecting through his mouth, he fought the stabbing knifelike pain burning between his ribs, he fought with the glaring veracity in the soldier's words, grasping for a loop hole, any way of washing his brother's blood off of his hands.

"He isn't dead," he argued weakly, though it was unclear whether he was attempting to convince the man in his hands or himself. Nathan watched as the soldier's eyes slid away from him to the spot where Peter had been, though surely by now he was at a safe distance. He prepared himself for the relief of seeing this soldier's face disfigured with astonishment.

The man remained impassive.

Nathan's grip on the soldier was at its tightest as he hesitantly rotated his head to match the gaze of the other man. He didn't see a puddle of congealed blood and an area of disturbed dirt as he had hoped and expected. He couldn't see those things because they were covered by Peter's cold and rigid corpse. Eyes open and unseeing, mouth agape, not a hair or finger had moved since Nathan had turned away.

The older brother turned away from the soldier with an incoherent strangled lament. He stumbled across the few feed separating Peter and himself, speaking in groans singular to those who grieve. Gathering the body to his chest as he had once before, he moaned into his brother's dark hair, "Peter, Peter, Peter…" Let the wolves howl in their loneliness, let elephants trumpet in their anxiety, let a misguided man sob over the loss of a brother at his own hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered pointlessly into the deaf ear. "This wasn't supposed to happen." Eyes streaming with tears, he pleaded anxiously to the man who continued to watch the heartrending scene, "This wasn't supposed to happen. I just wanted to be right and good…like him, for him. Never this," he groaned, stroking the hair out of Peter's eyes.

"Honestly, Senator, what _did _you expect to happen?" Disgusted, he turned away from the trembling man. He walked a few feet before pausing to look halfway over his shoulder. "You know, I have a younger brother and sister. They're annoying and piss me off all the time, but even at my most angry I would never involve them in shit like this."

"Dear God," Nathan shuddered, rocking his dead brother gently in his arms, "What have I done? What have I done?"

* * *

_"Damn it, Peter" 18 year old Nathan barked as he stood over the remains of what had once been his first place varsity baseball trophy. Why couldn't it have been of the 3rd place JV variety? "How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff?"_

_"I know," Peter cringed, hating that he had so enraged his beloved Nathan._

_"Then why?" He crouched down to scoop up his now headless symbol of success, refusing to meet Peter's eyes. He knew that one look at the woebegone expression would dismiss his every desire for swift and painful retribution. "Why can't you just listen for once?"_

_A sniffle. "I'm sorry, Nate. Really sorry. I just wanted to see it one more time." A pause. "Do you hate me?"_

_Peter's unexpected words snapped Nathan to attention. '_Man, I looked at 'im,_' he moaned inwardly, reaching over to pull his downcast brother to his side. "Now why the hell would you go and say something stupid like that?"_

_Grateful for the familiar warmth of his brother's abdomen, Peter wrapped his small four year old arms as far around his brother as he could manage. "Cause I broke your real nice trophy that you loved so much. And you yelled at me."_

_"Dummy," Nathan remarked fondly, kneeling before the much younger boy to drop a soft kiss on his forehead. "I could never hate you. Sure you piss me off and annoy me to no end, but you're my kid brother. That's kinda your job."_

_Peter dragged his forearm across his weeping nose with a loud sniff, a habit his mother was constantly encouraging him to break. "You mean it?"_

_"Have I ever lied to you before?" Nathan stood and tousled his brother's already messy hair. "We're brothers, and that means forever. I'm always gonna love you and protect you. Even when you don't want me to."_

_"Pinky swear?" Peter asked eagerly, offering his smallest digit to his big brother. _

_After looking over his shoulder to ensure that no one was in the vicinity to view the silly act, Nathan took the impossibly small finger into his own. "Pinky swear." He released the hold only to throw his arm around his brother's thin shoulders. "Come on, squirt, lets go find some glue."_

_

* * *

_

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…"

Nathan sat in the front pew during the funeral, beside Heidi and the boys, beside a distraught Claire. He gave a moving eulogy. He thanked the mourners for their thoughts and prayers. He mingled during the reception, over hearing snippets of hushed conversation.

"I can't believe he's gone."

"I know…so young."

"Figures he would have died trying to save someone from a burning car."

_Sigh_. "He was a great guy."

"I didn't see Angela at the funeral."

"No, I heard she hasn't been out of bed since she learned about the accident."

"The poor family. First Arthur barely two years ago and now this."

"Tragic. He was so young…"

He moves, he watches, he interacts, but it's all so meaningless. He's numb to everything. No anger, no grief, no tears; he's empty. Even a confrontation with a sickened Claire fails to evoke any emotion.

"He should have healed," he had murmured.

She scoffed through her endless supply of tears, repressing the urge to throw her scalding coffee directly into his face. "If you had bothered to talk to him, if you had returned even one of his calls, like a brother should, you would have know that his ability changed. That he could only hang on to one at a time. But you didn't care. You didn't care about anything but your selfish ambition and Peter paid the price. Do me a favor," she spit out, her blue eyes shining brilliantly with righteous indignation, "don't ever talk to me again. Don't try to contact me, don't interfere in my life in any way. I hate you with as much passion as I loved Peter. And that was a lot."

He should have cared that his only daughter disowned him in front of a crowd of onlookers, but he didn't. Nathan had once suggested to Peter that everything he claimed to be was the result of having his brother in his life; that if his brother was gone, the Nathan he had always been would also cease to exist. Lost in the depths of his pain and guilt, this was exactly what happened. Nathan Petrelli was never heard of again in the political realm, though the momentum of the anti-abilities movement continued along well enough without him.

Nathan never fully believed that his brother had indeed died that day, that what Claire had said about the change in his ability was true. He spent the rest of his life seeing Peter in every dark haired twenty something he met on the street. He combed through hospitals, inspecting every nurse from a distance, hoping to see that trademark crooked grin once more.

He had lost his family, his friends, his job, and his position in society, but in all fairness, regarding the battle of sibling supremacy, he had finally won.

* * *

Eeee…I cant' believe I actually did that! Anyone who's read any of my stories will attest to the fact that I really do love Peter! ::sobs:: Nathan just had to learn his lesson! Though I have to say, I'm glad that in the last episode we get to see that Nathan isn't just a horrible monster who couldn't give a flying fart whether his brother lives or dies. Maybe our loving Nate (the one who visits Peter in the hospital, gives good bye kisses and cleans up the many messes left by his brother) really is in there somewhere…


End file.
